


At the Fort - The Missing Scenes

by BlueSaffire



Category: Last of the Mohicans (1992)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-06-30 20:39:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15759255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueSaffire/pseuds/BlueSaffire
Summary: We saw so little of Alice and Uncas when they reached Fort William Henry. But clearly, they must have had some serious interactions while they were there. At the Fort offers a scenario of what might have occurred. (Please note: this work previously appeared on the FanFiction site.)





	1. Chapter 1

Finally, a chance to rest after two harrowing days. Alice had just settled down on one of the beds in her father's quarters when Duncan burst through the door, "Cora! I wanted to talk to you."

"Duncan," Cora said, "hush."

Alice rose from the bed, "Talk to Duncan, Cora. I must manage. I cannot be an invalid school girl."

"Alice," Cora admonished.

"I'll see if Mr. Phelps needs anything."

"I'm sorry," Duncan said.

Alice stepped out the door as an explosion rocked the night. She recoiled. Dear God, when would this nightmare end? She looked about, seeking safety, comfort, something to hold onto.

She had created the excuse of helping Mr. Phelps to escape the inevitable encounter between Duncan and Cora, but perhaps she really could offer her services. Although not as knowledgeable as Cora, surely there was something she could do; be useful somehow.

"Alice, how may I help you?" Mr. Phelps asked when she entered the infirmary.

"I thought I might be of use. Is there something I can do here?" she gestured around her. Mr. Phelps stared at her as if he didn't understand what she'd said. The silence was deafening. "Anything?" she urged.

"Well, yes, I suppose," he murmured. Alice was not convinced that he wanted her help, but she would not go back to the room she shared with Cora just yet. "Supplies to be packed up," he gestured to a nearby table, "in a trunk in the exam room." He handed her an empty basket. "Thank you."

"Of course," she said. "Is…is anyone—"

"The room is empty," he replied. She nodded and filled the basket.

The trunk Mr. Phelps had referred to was shoved in a corner of the small room below shelves containing rolled strips of cloth and bottles of various liquids unknown to Alice. The only other items in the room were a wooden table where she knew the injured had been attended to, and one chair. She knelt, lifted the lid of the trunk and began emptying the contents of the basket. When she packed the last item, the sound of a throat clearing caused Alice to whip around and fall onto her backside with an "oomph."

"Sorry, miss," Uncas, standing just inside the doorway, said in his deep, resonant voice, "didn't mean to frighten you."

Her cheeks warmed with embarrassment as she tried to lift herself from her rather undignified position on the floor. Like a fox, Uncas loped over to her, extended his hand. She looked up at him, unsure. But as she stared into the dark orbs of his eyes, saw the serenity nestled in their depths, she reached up. He lifted her effortlessly. She stumbled on her dress and he caught her as she swayed against him. "Oh, I am sorry," she said, trying to collect herself. She heard a faint grunt as he held her away from him. "Are you hurt?" she asked. He held her arms as he had on the George Road when he'd stopped her from running after the horses he'd scattered, not with brute strength, but with a quietude she had rarely experienced from anyone.

"Just a scratch," he replied.

But she saw a small, red splotch on the left side of his tunic. "You're bleeding." She touched the spot with her fingertips.

"Need a clean bandage."

"I can change it for you. Take your shirt off," this as she tugged the fabric, all business with a focus on being of use, finally. He grabbed her hands, stilling them. Startled, she looked up. He released her and stepped back. Still looking at her, he untied his belt, pulled his tunic over his head and slid onto the table.

Alice swallowed; she was seeing him without a shirt for the first time. With a will of their own, her eyes followed the line of tattoos across his chest just below his collar bone, and along his wrists and forearms. She wished she was brave enough to ask him about them. Her eyes noted the gold bands encircling his left wrist. In her experience, bracelets were adornment only women wore, but on Uncas they seemed a natural part of him, like his mane of long, black hair. She felt the urge to reach out and touch them, as she wanted to trace the tattoos inked across his skin, and run her fingers through all that hair. While she had found men back home to be handsome, she'd never felt such inclinations towards any of them. How was it that this Mohican, so alien to her experience, affected her so?

When she looked up at his face again, she thought she saw amusement in his eyes, but it vanished quickly and was replaced by something she did not recognize. All she knew was that she needed to remind herself why he was sitting on the table, shirtless. She turned hastily to the shelves above the trunk. "I don't know what potions these bottles contain, but we can at least change your bandage." She looked at him over her shoulder and he nodded. She wondered what his skin would feel like if she touched him. Smooth? Warm? Anything like her own pale skin? She didn't think skin the color of caramel could ever be cold.

He laid his shirt and belt beside him and began untying the wrapping that Cora had secured around his torso earlier in the evening. Alice reached around to unwind the strip of cotton, bringing her close enough to his body that she could feel the heat radiating off him even though she was not touching him. Warmth, so much warmth. She felt his breath skim across her forehead causing her to hold in her own suddenly rapid breathing. Thankfully, the bandage was only wrapped around him once. She tossed it aside and picked up a clean strip of cloth. "Hold this, please," she stated, pressing the cloth against his left side and breathing once again. Silently, he did as she asked. When she finished securing the new bandage, she stepped back and asked, "Does that feel alright?"

He nodded, "Never better. Thank you."

"Of course, sir. It's the least I can do after all you have done for me…I mean, for us. Your father and brother as well," she amended and busied herself gathering the soiled cloth.

"Uncas."

"Hmm?" she looked up, distracted.

"Uncas. My name. Call me 'Uncas.'"

"Oh, I couldn't. I—"

He raised an eyebrow. This time, Alice definitely saw amusement in his face and felt silly for being so formal after all they'd been through. She'd slept by his side at the Indian burial site. Tonight, he'd seen her inelegantly fall on her bottom, eye his naked chest, and now was so close to him that the skirt of her dress brushed his left knee; it seemed foolish to continue to abide by formalities that were meaningless in this new world in which she found herself. She gazed again into his eyes and saw something unfamiliar, but not unwelcome, in their depths. Something that gave her courage. "Well, Mr. Uncas," she began, "if you insist," and smiled, thinking she hadn't done so for two days.

He chuckled. She realized it was the first time she'd seen him smile. He had a faint dimple in his right cheek. It felt so good to feel some kind of normalcy since the George Road, even though she found herself in a very unusual situation—alone with a half naked man, a very attractive half naked man, who was focused on her. "Will you call me 'Alice?'"

"Not sure your father or the Major, or even your sister, would approve, Miss."

Surprising herself with her audacity, she turned fully towards him and replied, "I approve." Again, Uncas raised an eyebrow, flashed that dimple. He tilted his head, causing his hair to fall over his right shoulder. Oh, yes, she approved wholeheartedly. As they stared at one another, Alice wondered what was happening here between them. What was this pull she felt? This need to touch his skin, his hair? She admitted she was mesmerized by all that hair. All the men of her acquaintance wore stiff powdered wigs; she'd never given a thought to their natural hair and what it might look like or feel like. But watching Uncas, his hair tumbling down around him, she wanted to sift her fingers through those velvety looking strands. She could not be quite that bold, yet.

"Do you really want to marry the Major?" Uncas asked.

Alice remembered her off- hand comment to Duncan as they'd forged their way to the fort that if Cora didn't marry him, she would. "You heard?"

With the slightest lift of a cheek, Uncas concurred. She had seen this particular gesture one other time, when they'd first arrived at the fort and were in her father's office. Col. Munro had thanked the three Mohicans for delivering his daughters to him safely. She'd been looking through her lowered lashed at Uncas and found his silent response to be both unexpected and rather endearing.

She watched him a moment, as if undecided, then nodded. "No," she teased, smiling. He answered her smile with one of his own. She wanted to trace his dimple, but refrained.

"Good," he murmured and touched the sleeve of her dress, trailed a finger across the inside of her elbow, then settled his hands, spider-light, around her slim waist. When she did not protest or pull away, he moved his knee so that she stood between his legs. His eyes, still on her, held a question. She had been hugged by her father, of course. Duncan had held her hand as any gentleman was taught to do, with polite indifference. But she'd never been held thus by a man who looked right into her eyes and seemed to truly see her. She found she liked it, liked it very much. While she wasn't exactly sure what he was asking, she knew she did not want to be anywhere but where she was at this moment. He wrapped his hands almost completely around her, urging her deeper between the V of his thighs. Then she did what she'd wanted to do from the moment he'd removed his shirt. She palmed his shoulders, felt the heat radiate from his smooth skin, the muscles and sinew below the surface coil beneath her delicate fingers. He was all power and strength, but his hold was gentle. She raised her eyes to his and saw the question still lingering in the onyx depths. And finally, she thought she knew what he was asking. She tilted her head, an invitation. His lips touched hers briefly, like a whisper, and he looked again into her hazel eyes, raised one eyebrow and asked, "You sure you don't want to marry the Major?"

She giggled; she could not help herself because she realized Uncas was teasing her. And she found she liked this side of him she hadn't seen before. His hands weaved through the loose tresses flowing down her back. When her laughter ceased, she looked up at him, touched his cheek and whispered, "I'm sure."

Slowly, their lips came together, lingering this time, tentative, interested. When the tip of his tongue skipped along her bottom lip, even though this was her first real kiss, she somehow knew what he wanted, and opened her mouth, accepting the sensual sweep of his tongue inside. She trailed her fingers through the silken, ebony mane cascading across his back and shoulders. It was as soft and velvety as she'd imagined and she moaned with the feel of it slipping through her fingers and his tongue sliding along the roof of her mouth. His fingers skimmed her back and neck until they cupped her face. He angled her head and deepened the kiss. She tightened her hold, lacing her fingers in his hair. And with a boldness she didn't know she possessed, she arched against him, her tongue dancing with his.

In the end, it was Uncas who broke off the kiss. Resting his forehead against hers, fingers tracing her cheeks and jaw, he whispered her name like a prayer.

She sighed, "Thank you."

He leaned back. "For what?"

"My first kiss."

When he smiled again, she felt brave enough to ask, "Do you know you have a dimple, right here?" She traced the groove. "You have a beautiful smile." She'd never been this forward with any man, but this man in her arms somehow freed her. Maybe it was that he was the first man who saw her, not as a girl or Cora's little sister, but as her own woman.

His fingers slid into her hair, pushing it back as he held her face between his hands. "You . . ." he hesitated.

"What?" she asked.

"You are brave and strong and beautiful," he stated in that deep, dark, silken voice that sent shivers along her arms and a quiver deep in her belly.

She shook her head. "No. Cora is the courageous one. Cora is strong and—"

He cut her off with a hard kiss. "You," he affirmed, "are all those things and more."

"Alice, how are you—" Mr. Phelps' voice echoed across the room as he burst through the door and halted at the threshold.

She jumped back, out of Uncas' arms and spun around. "He's doing fine, Mr. Phelps. The bandage seems to be holding now. And I…I packed the supplies. I can do the same with the items on the shelves if you wish," she babbled. She could sense Uncas stiffen at her back, so she inched a hand behind and touched his knee, squeezing. She felt his hand envelope hers then glide to her wrist and wrap around her forearm, caressing.

"It's getting late, Alice. You should go back to your father's quarters," this as he eyed Uncas with a frown.

"She was a help, Mr. Phelps. I couldn't have fixed this myself," Uncas said as he hopped off the table and gestured to his bandage. Alice wondered what kind of picture the two of them made standing together, the pale white woman, hair unbound, body warmed by the heat of their kisses, and the shirtless, tattooed, dark "savage" standing slightly behind her, not touching her but close enough that she could feel his breath flutter along the top of her head.

"Alice," Mr. Phelps said again, "you don't want to worry your father and sister."

Alice glanced back at Uncas, trying to tell him with her eyes that she didn't want to go but felt she had no choice. She saw that minute gesture of assertion again; he understood. "Good night, sir," she said to him.

"Thank you for your help, Miss," he replied.

As she passed Mr. Phelps, she bobbed her head, saying, "Good evening, Mr. Phelps," then floated out the door.


	2. Chapter 2

Mr. Phelps watched Alice leave then looked at the Indian still standing by the table, shirtless but wearing what appeared to be a challenge in his eyes. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth to speak, but the Indian turned his back and reached for his tunic. As he slipped it over his head, Mr. Phelps said, “I’m sure the Colonel is grateful for what your family did for his daughters.” For a brief second, the Indian froze in the act of tying his belt, but he shrugged his shoulders as if settling his shirt into place before turning back to Mr. Phelps who continued, “You must understand, Alice is an innocent. She has never been away from her homeland.” The fingers of both hands clenched and unclenched as they hung by his side. “If you—“

 

“I would never hurt her,” Uncas interrupted in that deep, quiet voice of his. His gaze unwavering.

 

Mr. Phelps cleared his throat again, unsettled by this Indian’s calm demeanor. He shifted on his feet, uneasy with the conversation he himself had started. The Indian could have walked out the door and not looked back, but for some reason, he hadn’t. “I’ve known the Munros for many years. I’ve been on campaigns with the Colonel and his eldest daughter. They would not take kindly to any attention you might bestow on Miss Alice. Nor would many others.” When Uncas did not respond, Mr. Phelps persisted, “Do you understand?”

 

“I understand,” Uncas replied then stepped towards the door.

 

Mr. Phelps shuffled aside as it appeared that Uncas was not about to stop or excuse himself to go past.  He watched the Indian’s long strides carry him into the night. He sighed heavily and shook his head. “God help them,” he whispered.

 

* * *

While Uncas understood Mr. Phelps’ concern, and indeed, a part of him even appreciated that the older man was looking out for Alice, his point of view still rankled. If the Major or another white soldier or even his own brother had paid her any mind, would they have been subject to the same lecture? Uncas thought not. He also understood that while some of the white settlers were not hostile, some even calling themselves friends, many of them would not tolerate anything beyond a passing acquaintance between him and a woman like Alice.

 

He had held her in his arms twice—at the burial grounds and in the infirmary. She had allowed him to kiss her and it oddly felt like they were made to fit together. Her quiet acceptance of all she’d witnessed impressed upon him that she was not as weak as her sister and father seemed to think. They treated her as if she was a porcelain doll but Uncas sensed steel deep inside her.

 

He aimlessly wandered towards the sleeping quarters he was sharing with his father and brother when he noticed Nathaniel saunter out of the building. He appeared to have a specific destination in mind. Uncas followed him with his eyes and watched as Miss Cora Munro drifted up to Nathaniel, took his hand and leaned into him. Arms wrapped around one another, they disappeared behind the infirmary.

 

Uncas stood unmoving for a moment then turned away from the sleeping quarters, unsure where he was going; he knew only that he did not want to be confined inside four walls right now. When he found himself near Colonel Munro’s lodgings he was surprised to see Alice sitting on a small barrel outside the door. She was staring down at her hands cradled in her lap but looked up, as if she sensed his approach even though he had not made a sound. She stood. He halted. Had he imagined her mouth forming his name?

 

“Uncas,” she said as she glided towards him. When she reached him, she looked into his eyes and asked, “Did Mr. Phelps say anything to you?” He remained silent, not yet willing to share the physician’s warning. “They all think I am a child still,” she muttered, “but I am not a child.” She raised a tentative hand and touched his upper arm with gentle fingers. He reached up and took her hand, lightly tugging her towards a small copse of trees lit only by the waning half moon. He expected her to protest or question where he was leading her, but she said nothing. This was not the first time she seemed to trust him implicitly.

 

When they were among the shadowed trees, he turned her so that her back rested against a pine and wrapped his hands around her waist as he had in the infirmary, with an assured but loose grip. “You are not a child.” He touched her cheek and traced her bottom lip with a thumb, his eyes roaming her face. “Know this, I would never hurt you. Never force you in any way.”

 

She placed her fingers over his lips to silence him. “I know,” she whispered, “I know,” her gaze never leaving his face.

 

He kissed her fingers then slowly moved his mouth towards hers affording her ample opportunity to pull away. She rose onto her tiptoes and pressed her lips against his. Her hands found his shoulders, roamed to his neck and around to the back of his head. She pulled herself against him, stroked his lips with her tongue. He opened his mouth to receive her and enfolded her in his arms, running his hands up and down her back.

 

Her responses continued to surprise and enchant him. When they’d first met, he’d expected shock, disgust, but he’d not seen any of those things reflected in her eyes whenever she looked at him. Even after he’d scattered the horses on the George Road, unlike her sister who’d stood silent and immobile, Alice had challenged him, yelling and pulling at him. He’d gripped her arms and spun her around to face him expecting fear or revulsion or both, and thinking perhaps in this situation, it was an advantage. He did not expect the wide-eyed fascination he thought he’d glimpsed.

 

With the exception of a few white women, like Alexandra Cameron, he rarely experienced such acceptance. He tried to reassure with his silence, tried to appear non-threatening, but his dark skin and tattoos seemed to frighten people, especially women. And so he’d begun to let Nathaniel speak in his stead.

 

Their tongues continued the ancient dance. He felt Alice’s fingers dig into his hair. He trailed his mouth along her cheek. When he reached her earlobe, he bit gently. She whimpered, her head falling back. He traced kisses along the column of her neck, used two fingers to push the fabric of her dress aside and expose the top of her shoulder. He pressed his mouth against her smooth, supple skin, his fingers skimmed her nape.

 

“Uncas,” she breathed and gripped his upper arms. Her head tilted against his. “Uncas,” she said again, as if she could say nothing else at that moment.

 

He pulled back, staring at her. “Alright?” he questioned, moving his hands to her face, gently caressing her cheeks with his thumbs.

 

She nodded, flicking her gaze up to his eyes. A smile tugged at her lips. “You?” she asked.

 

He grinned. “Never better,” he replied then tucked her head beneath his chin. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders well above his wound and squeezed. He treasured the way she clung to him, as if no one else in the world existed or mattered. The top of her head brushed his lips and he murmured her name.

 

She leaned back and swept the hair away from his sharply angled cheekbones. Staring into his deep brown eyes only partially illuminated by the light of the moon, she asked, “Uncas, what will happen?”

 

“Not sure. Whatever happens, stay near your father.”

 

“I don’t mean that,” she said. “I mean, what will happen . . .”

 

He tilted his head, waiting, though he thought he knew what she was asking.

 

“Will I ever see you again?” she exclaimed.

 

He heaved a sigh. “Will your father send you away?”

 

She shook her head, “I don’t know. Perhaps Cora knows, but they . . . they don’t . . .”

 

He nodded. “Mr. Phelps warned me to stay away from you.”

 

“I knew he said something after I left,” she hissed.

 

“He is only concerned for your safety,” Uncas replied.

 

She gazed up at him, placed her hands on his chest and stated, “I have never felt safer than when I am with you.” Her unflinching gaze tore into him and he felt humbled. He shook his head and turned away. “Uncas, look at me,” Alice said and turned his face towards hers. “You are unlike anyone I have ever known. You called me brave and strong, but you, you are fearless, undaunted. You give me strength and courage. You make me want to be more than I have ever been allowed to be.”

 

“Alice, it has always been there inside you. I saw it the first time you tried to stop me from chasing the horses away. You confronted me, unafraid. You didn’t know if I was friend or foe but you didn’t hesitate.”

 

She smiled, rested her head against his shoulder. He felt her fingers explore the tattoos just below his collarbone in the open V of his shirt and pressed her hand flat against his chest. “It is not a safe time. Too many unknown enemies. Too many people who think I am just a savage out for your virtue.” When she raised her head and opened her mouth to protest, he gathered her close against him, kissed her forehead.

 

“No,” she said defeated, “no. You are good and honorable.”

 

“But a savage in their eyes.”

 

“But never in mine,” she whispered against his chest.

 

Voices rang out by the Colonel’s lodgings. Uncas stiffened. “We should return. They will look for you if you are not safe and snug in your bed. They should not find us together.”

 

Tears formed in her eyes, overflowed. She shook her head. He palmed her cheeks, wiped her tears with his thumbs. “Let’s take each day as it comes, see what tomorrow brings,” he said.

 

“I fear I will never see you again after tonight,” she said.

 

He kissed her tears, each eye, her nose, finally her mouth, and buried his fingers in her hair. She clung to him indeed as if it was the last time she would see him, touch him. When they finally parted, he said, "Go. I will not leave without telling you. Somehow, I will get a message to you."

 

"Promise me," this as she clutched his hand.

 

“I promise.”

 

She looked back only once as she trudged up the slight incline to her father’s quarters. He watched her until she entered, waited a few more moments before leaving the shelter of the trees. He saw Cora push the door open as she returned from her own assignation with Nathaniel. With his usual stealth, he made his way back to his sleeping quarters, thinking he would not see Alice again after she and her family reached whatever destination the Colonel decided upon. The Colonel, he was convinced, would make sure of that.


	3. Chapter 3

As Alice plodded up the slight incline to her father’s quarters, she looked back at Uncas, saw his sturdy frame outlined by the half moon. Although she was too far away to really see his eyes, she was convinced that his gaze was unwavering as she made her assent.

She hesitated outside her father’s lodgings. If Cora and Duncan were still there, she did not want to intrude. She pushed open the door and peeked inside; the room was empty, lit by a small fire still burning in the fireplace and an oil lamp sitting on a table. As she turned up the wick she wondered where Cora could be at this late hour. She looked up and glimpsed her reflection in the small mirror hanging above the wash basin. Her hair hung about her shoulders in disarray, her lips looked red and plump, her eyes—she had never seen them sparkling as if a thousand stars illuminated them from within. Her cheeks were flushed. She touched her shoulder where Uncas had slid her dress aside and kissed her. She almost did not recognize herself. What did he see in her, a naïve white woman with so little life experience? He was a man of the frontier, yet he thought her brave and strong and beautiful. But he was all of those things, even beautiful.

She touched her lips. The Portman Square crowd would be shocked. Alice Munro, Cora’s little sister, kissed by a “savage.” They would never believe it. But it had happened. And contrary to what Alice would have imagined a day or two ago, she was not disgusted or remotely sorry. In England, if she had been caught kissing a man as she had kissed Uncas, she would have been compromised and forced to marry. Had Mr. Phelps seen? She thought she’d pulled away quickly enough, but she wasn’t sure. Would he tell her father? What would happen to Uncas? She didn’t think her father would make her marry Uncas. In fact, she was quite sure he would object vehemently to anything more than a polite show of gratitude for what Uncas and his father and brother had done for them. Marry Uncas? She shook her head—she hardly knew him. But then she remembered how it felt with his body covering hers at the burial ground. She’d slept by his side; he’d awakened her from a nightmare. Had she actually been clutching his arm in the morning or had that been a dream? She wasn’t entirely sure; she knew only that she felt safe despite sleeping in the open at an Indian burial site. Despite sleeping next to a “savage.” Or perhaps because she slept next to that particular “savage.” And tonight—

The door burst open and Cora paused at the threshold. “Alice, when did you get back? Did you help Mr. Phelps?”

Although surprised by her sister’s abrupt entrance, Alice calmly pulled her hair back and twisted it into a knot at her nape before turning to face Cora. As she drew breath to respond, Cora continued, “Are you alright?” She strode to her, “You look feverish.” She placed her hand on Alice’s forehead.

Alice drew back from Cora’s touch and knocked into the washstand; water sloshed out of the basin. “I’m fine,” she replied and turned to steady the teetering washbowl. She looked up and saw Cora’s dark eyes pinning her in the mirror. “I’m fine,” she repeated, “I packed some supplies for Mr. Phelps.” Cora’s eyes narrowed. “And one of our . . . guides needed his bandage changed,” she murmured.

“Guides?” Cora questioned. “Do you mean Uncas? Nathaniel’s brother?”

“Oh, is that his name?” Alice felt a deep, instinctive need to keep her encounters with Uncas to herself, at least for now. She wasn’t sure why, except that she wanted to treasure those moments, treasure him, as something of her very own for a little while. And her father would not be happy if he discovered she was developing a tendre for an Indian. All her life, she’d lived under the shadow of her vivacious, outgoing older sister—father’s favorite. For the first time, someone seemed to truly see her, see something inside her that she herself hadn’t.

Papa showed his love by being overprotective, but he could never completely hide the fact that he somehow blamed Alice for his beloved wife’s death; she had died giving birth to little Alice. Cora tried to compensate for the lack of a mother’s love and her father’s obvious favoritism by shielding her from life’s realities. The truth was, in their zealousness they’d stifled her.

She had so looked forward to adventures in America; she thought this trip to the colonies would help her discover her true capabilities, become, perhaps, a more interesting woman. The Portman Square crowd would listen, wide-eyed and fascinated, to her amazing experiences in the new world instead of politely nodding to her then ignoring her. But God help her, she had never expected to witness such brutality. And she certainly had not expected to feel so safe with and cherished by a “red man.” For she did feel cherished by Uncas—the way he held her with such gentleness and kissed her so tenderly. Brave, strong, beautiful. Had he really meant those things about her? Cora was so strong, so sure of herself. Perhaps if Alice had gone with her father on some of his military campaigns she too would feel strong and brave. She turned 18 a few months ago yet felt as if she’d experienced more of life in these few days than she had in her entire 18 years.

“Alice,” Cora interrupted her thoughts, “after all they’ve done for us, how is it that you do not know his name?”

Alice took a deep breath, turned back to her sister and shrugged. She stepped away from Cora’s reach and said, “I am very tired, Cora. I would like to sleep.”

“Of course,” Cora replied, a crease forming between her brows.

At one time, Alice may have tried to appease Cora, but tonight, she had no wish to justify herself to her sister or anyone else. She slid out of her dress and prepared to sleep in her shift and stockings. As she pulled back the covers, Cora grasped her arm. “What is this? Did you injure yourself?” Cora was gazing at the top of Alice’s right shoulder.

Alice looked down and saw a small reddish mark that she was sure hadn’t been there before her interlude with Uncas. “Nothing,” Alice replied, “it happened at the infirmary as I was packing the supplies. The lid of the trunk caught my shoulder.” She pulled out of her sister’s hold and slid into bed. “You should sleep, Cora. We’ve long, uncertain days ahead.” With that, Alice turned on her side away from her sister and closed her eyes. She was shocked at how calm she felt and how easily the lie had slipped out of her mouth. She smiled to herself as sleep overtook her.

* * *

Alice awoke to the sound of hissing voices. She rolled over and blinked her eyes open. Cora was in the doorway speaking with one of the Colonial Militiamen. When she heard the word “arrested” she woke fully.

“Cora, what is it? What has happened” she asked as her feet hit the wood floor. She wrapped the blanket around herself and shuffled to Cora.

“Nathaniel has been arrested,” Cora declared.

“Arrested? Whatever for?”

Cora turned tear filled eyes to her, “For sedition.”

The Colonial added, “He helped some of the others escape earlier tonight. They’re trying to get back to their homes . . . protect their families. I thought Miss Munro would want to know.”

Alice wrapped her arm around her reeling sister, the blanket encasing them both like a cape. “Of course. Thank you, sir,” Alice replied. “It will be alright, Cora. Papa will see to it.”

“Papa!” Cora exclaimed, “it is Papa who has had Nathaniel arrested.”

Alice could not believe this to be so. She looked to the Militiaman for confirmation.

He nodded, “It’s true, Miss.”

“Duncan, then,” Alice continued, “he knows what Nathaniel and his father and brother did for us.”

“Alice, I rejected Duncan’s proposal earlier tonight. And he did not corroborate what we witnessed at the cabin.”

Alice sucked in her breath, unable to comprehend the behavior of her father or Duncan. They were good, kind men.

“Take me to Nathaniel,” Cora demanded of the Colonial then added, “please,” a quiver in her voice that Alice had never heard before. She suddenly felt protective of her usually strong, resilient sister.

“I will accompany you,” she said.

“Alice, no. It could be—“

“Dangerous,” Alice interrupted, “I understand.” She turned Cora to face her. “I know I am not like you, Cora, but I am not a child.”

Cora gazed at Alice then said to the Colonial, “Give us a moment.” He nodded and closed the door, leaving the sisters alone. They quickly donned their dresses and shoes and stepped outside. Arm-in-arm, they followed the Militiaman to where Nathaniel was being held.

“Thank you,” Alice said to him when they reached the stockade. He left the sisters outside the door and went on his way. Together, they entered and paused at the threshold. Cora took a deep breath. Alice squeezed her shoulder. “Alright?” she asked.

Cora nodded, “Thank you, Alice.” Alice smiled slightly, nudged her forward then followed her down the steps to the holding cells. They passed a sentry who stood at attention, but did not question them. A roughly fashioned chair and table with a flickering candle atop it sat to the right. A wall sconce emitted a soft amber glow. It made the red highlights in Cora’s hair gleam.

At their approach, Uncas, standing outside Nathaniel’s cell, turned, his gaze sliding past Cora to settle on Alice. Cora had eyes only for Nathaniel, poised behind the bars of the cell. He turned to stare at Cora, drinking in the sight of her. Alice hung back, watching.

As Cora approached the cell, Uncas stepped aside to allow her access. She looked up at him briefly then gazed at Nathaniel, whose hands slid through the bars to take Cora by the arms and pull her towards him. “They’re going to hang you,” she whispered then took a deep breath and tearfully asked, “Why didn’t you leave when you had the chance?”

Nathaniel reached up, touched her face, brushed away her tears and replied, “Because what I’m interested in is right here.”

Alice now understood the depth of her sister’s feelings for the rugged frontiersman. She could see it in the way they held each other and seemed to forget everything else around them. She suddenly felt like an intruder and backed away.

Uncas eyed his brother; an almost invisible signal passed between them. He turned to Alice, “I will escort you back to your father’s quarters.”

“Thank you. Cora, will you be alright?”

Cora turned briefly to her sister, “Yes. Go with Uncas.”

Alice nodded and he took her elbow. Side-by-side they climbed the steps past the soldier. Alice looked back and saw Nathaniel bury his fingers in the wild, wavy locks of Cora’s burnished hair and pull her as close as the bars of the cell would allow. Cora angled her head against his cheek, tears slipping silently from her eyes.

When Alice and Uncas stood outside the stockade, she asked, “Will they hang Nathaniel, truly?”

He looked down at her. “Yes,” he replied.

Alice’s eyes widened, “They cannot! My father . . .” Here she hesitated, remembering that it was her father who’d had Nathaniel arrested in the first place. Uncas said nothing. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, shaking her head. “I cannot believe it of him, but—“

“It is true, Alice.”

Her shoulders hunched. The man she had revered all her life behaving in such a way bewildered her. Cora would be devastated if anything happened to Nathaniel. And now she realized how suited they were. And how unsuited she was for Duncan. Alice knew Duncan would want a proper wife, a wife who, while she may have her own opinions, would not be permitted to air them in front of others if they did not mirror his own. How had she not seen this in him before? Or had she simply ignored it, instead, choosing to focus on the handsome, gallant British officer in his striking, red uniform. It appeared this adventure in America was revealing more than she’d ever expected. She felt as if she’d been asleep her whole life, until now.

“Let me take you back to your father’s lodgings.”

“I cannot. Not right now. If he is there—“

“If he is there he will wonder where you are.”

“Please, I do not want to go just yet.” She touched his arm and he flinched. “What is it, Uncas? Why do you . . .” she trailed off. Perhaps he no longer cared for her after what her father had done to his brother. She felt her own sense of devastation and turned from him. Blindly, she staggered away, not sure where she would go, knowing only that she could not face Uncas. She sobbed, her hand slapping her mouth to hold the tears at bay. She stumbled, fell, felt strong hands grasp her arms.

“Alice.” His deep, rich voice penetrated her whirling thoughts but she wrenched away, attempting to remove herself from his hold. “Alice,” he repeated and tightened his grip.

“I’m sorry,” she babbled, “I’m sorry.” She collapsed, bereft.

Uncas gathered her in his arms. Her tears flowed freely now. He tucked her against his chest and she nestled her head beneath his chin, suddenly exhausted. Without another word, he carried her away.

* * *

Alice stirred. Warmth enveloped her. Warmth and the smell of earth and pine after rain. She snuggled deeper into the comfort of the bed in her father’s quarters. She felt lips touch her forehead, fingertips graze her cheek. She sighed and nudged her nose against a heated neck. Her eyes flew open and she pushed away from a hard, lean chest. Uncas clutched her arms as she knelt between his legs. They were outside, behind a structure somewhere within the fort, not safe in her father’s quarters. She continued to pull away, remembering what had transpired earlier that night—Nathaniel arrested by her father’s command, she and Cora at the stockade, and Uncas, looking at her as if . . . as if what? She thought he hated her for what her father had done to his brother.

“Alice.” He said nothing else.

She stilled, gazed at him. His eyes were soft, intense but she could detect no hatred or aversion in their fathomless onyx depths. His eyes—she could drown in them. “Uncas,” she whispered, and wrapped her hands around his upper arms. “I am so sorry. Forgive me.”

“Nothing to forgive. You didn’t arrest Nathaniel.”

“But he’s my father,” she cried.

“But you are not him,” he replied simply then traced the outline of her cheek, his hand sliding to the back of her neck loosening the simple knot she’d tied before going to bed earlier that night. Her hair tumbled down around her shoulders. She was mesmerized, overwhelmed by him and she reached up, pulled his face towards her and kissed him as if tonight was the last night they would have on this earth. Their tongues entangled; her fingers trailed across his chest, lingered there. She felt his hand slide off her shoulder and towards her breast. Delicately, he touched her through the fabric of her gown and she moaned, arching into him. He traced the edge of her bodice, his fingers playing along her sensitive skin.

An explosion rocked the night and she recoiled. When another followed and another and another, she cowered. Uncas pulled her against him, wrapped his arms around her. She shivered, fear beginning to overtake her. “I have you,” he declared.

Her arms encircled his waist, angled up to the back of his shoulders; she pressed her face against his neck, breathing in the scent that was uniquely his. She trembled. “When will it end?” she rasped, clutching the fabric of his shirt in her small fists. He held her, steady, sure, unflinching as bombardment after bombardment continued to rattle the fort.

How long they sat like that, entwined within one another’s arms, Alice was not sure. Finally, the pauses between blasts grew until . . . blessed silence. Or as silent as a military fort could be. The first rays of the sun began to peek over the fortifications.

“Alice,” Uncas murmured, his lips brushing her ear, “if your father surrenders—”

“What?” she cried as she pulled back, stared up at him with wide eyes.

“If your father surrenders,” he repeated, “the French may allow us to depart unhindered. If that happens, stay by your father.”

“Promise me you will be near if we leave.”

“I will.”

“Uncas—“

“I swear to you, I will keep you safe.”

“But my father . . . I cannot.”

“The French officers will not harm their enemy’s counterparts. Stay near your father.” She shook her head. “Alice . . .”

“I—“

“No more talk,” he touched her lips with a finger, silencing her. “There is not much of the night remaining. You should sleep.”

“I don’t want to leave you.”

“Because you feel safe with me. You will be safe with your father, as well.”

“No. I mean . . . yes, I feel safe with you. But Uncas, I . . . ” she hesitated, trying to sort out her feelings. There was something else at play here, something of which she was unsure. She thought about the way Cora and Nathaniel had gazed at each other at the stockade. Alice had never seen Cora look at Duncan in that way, although she’d spied admiration whenever he regarded her sister. What was this overwhelming need to be near Uncas, feel his arms around her, touch his skin, his hair, watch his body move in that certain way that was uniquely his—as if he felt completely comfortable in his own skin? She did not fully understand it, but felt she was on the verge of something monumental.

Uncas placed a finger under Alice’s chin and tilted her face towards his. “It’s almost morning.” He nodded to the east edge of the battlements as the first streaks of dawn colored the sky. She turned her head to look, leaned against his shoulder and let her fingers play across his chest. She clenched the open collar of his shirt then pressed her lips against the exposed skin, running her tongue along the dark lines of his tattoos, tasting. She heard him suck in his breath. Her name tumbled from his mouth and his fingers knotted in her hair.

“Don’t leave me,” she begged.

“Never,” he ground out. His hands slid down her back to cup her bottom and he lifted her onto his lap. She straddled him, pressing that most intimate part of her against his groin. She felt something rigid through his breechclout respond to her pressure and she instinctively rolled her hips forward then back. His lips traveled along the column of her neck and her head fell back, allowing him better access. The low groan that emanated from deep in his throat pleased her. Her fingers sifted through his thick hair and she pushed his head against the juncture of her neck and shoulder. He sucked her delicate flesh, his lips traveling down. He pushed the fabric of her dress aside and freed one breast. The early morning air teased her sensitive skin. When Uncas’ mouth kissed the swell of her breast, moved to her nipple she cried out. She had never felt anything like this before. His lips, soft but firm, his tongue circling her areole, played with her erect nipple.

“Uncas!” She was melting and splintering at the same time. Her fingers pulled his hair, grabbed at his shoulders. He grunted against her breasts as his mouth tracked a path to her other nipple, fingers shoving aside the restrictive fabric of her bodice.

The sky turned shades of gold and pink and Alice marveled at what the play of light did to Uncas’ dusky skin as she pulled his shirt aside and exposed one shoulder. Her father had once given her a necklace set with a large amber stone; Alice thought it looked like a dollop of honey. Uncas’ skin was like that stone—liquid amber. She bent her head and fastened her lips to his shoulder. So lost was she in her reverie that she did not hear the sounds of voices, boots pounding the ground. It was Uncas who stilled, his mouth lingering against her skin. He leaned back and captured her face in his hands.

“What is it? What is happening?” she asked.

“Not sure,” he replied as his hands slid from her face to her shoulders. She looked down at herself, shocked at her exposed breasts, her bodice a crescent around them, the dawn light turning her usually pale skin golden. Her breath caught in her throat and she stared at Uncas as he busied himself righting her dress. Had she really behaved in such a wonton fashion? She could feel the heat rise to her cheeks. He looked up, his eyes roaming her face. She swallowed, breathing rapidly, all her doubts crashing down around her. She began to pull away from him, but Uncas cupped her face, rubbed his thumbs along her cheeks and kissed her mouth reverently. When they broke apart, Alice sighed and leaned her forehead against his chin. “Let me take you back to your father’s quarters. They may be looking for you, wondering what has happened to their little wren.” Alice looked up at him, eyes wide, and nodded. He helped her off his lap and they rose as one, arms wrapped about one another. As they rounded the building they nearly collided with Mr. Phelps. Alice stopped, unconsciously leaning into Uncas.

“Alice, I’ve been looking for you. Your father is meeting with Montcalm.” The edge in his voice unmistakable as he glared at Uncas.

“Montcalm? Why?” Alice asked.

“If you hadn’t noticed, the fort was under fierce attack all night.”

“Yes . . . yes. I was frightened. Uncas kept me safe,” she replied.

“I was taking her to her father’s lodgings,” Uncas added.

“Alice, come with me,” Mr. Phelps ignored Uncas.

Alice straightened her spine, feeling defiant as she stood by Uncas, “Why?” she asked.

Mr. Phelps stood watching them a moment. His shoulders sagged and he shook his head, “Please, Alice . . .” his eyes flicked to Uncas then back to Alice, “Your father will not be happy about this. You don’t understand this world and they way things are here.” He suddenly looked so old and tired that she felt sorry for the man, who truly was doing his best to look after her. But she was also angry. Why wasn’t he looking for Cora? Alice was tired of being treated like a helpless creature.

“Mr. Phelps,” she began, “I appreciate your concern, but Uncas will see me to my father’s quarters. I shall be safe with him. If it were not for him and his father and brother we would have been killed on the George Road.” Her gaze was unwavering as she looked the man in the eye and kept her arm around Uncas, refusing to be intimidated. She just hoped Mr. Phelps could not see her quaking as she confronted her father’s old friend. She felt Uncas tighten his hold just enough to reassure her that he was there, he would not leave her.

They stared at one another a moment longer, this odd trio. Alice took a deep breath and said, “If you feel you must speak to my father, I . . . I understand.” Inciting her father’s anger, his disapproval were fears embedded deep within her and she suddenly realized the gravity of what she had done by standing up to Mr. Phelps, by allowing Uncas to kiss her, touch her. But Uncas made her feel courageous. And although she knew he could defend himself, for the second time that night, she experienced a fierce need to protect someone for whom she cared deeply. She had only ever felt this way when she was a child, guarding her dolls from invisible monsters.

“Alice,” Mr. Phelps shook his head and sighed, “I will not speak to your father of this.” He switched his gaze to Uncas and said, “Get her back to her father’s quarters now.”

Uncas nodded and with Alice held securely against him, strode past Mr. Phelps. “I told you you are brave,” he said and pressed her closer to his side. Alice smiled and leaned her head against his shoulder.

As they approached her father’s lodgings, Uncas stopped and held her away from him. “Wait here.” She nodded. He scouted the area, ensuring no one was about then motioned her forward. They stood against the side of the building and Uncas said, “Remember what I said, no matter what happens, stay close to your father.” She nodded, touched his cheek briefly and in a swirl of skirts, turned. But Uncas held her arm, pulled her back against him and kissed her mouth, his fingers caressing her face. “And I will not be far from you,” this as he stared into her eyes.

“I know.” With that, he let her go and watched as she entered her father’s lodgings.

When Alice went in, again, the room was empty. Cora must still be at the stockade. Fully dressed, she laid down on the bed, wondering what today would bring. With the echo of Uncas’ promise in her mind and the memory of his hands and lips on her body, exhaustion overtook her and she slept.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Thank you to Suchgoodluck whose review of Chapter I planted a couple of seeds for me, including the raging battle at the fort and Colonel Munro possibly having something to say. I didn’t expect that he would but he did! And as always, I appreciate all the reviews—you never know what might spark an idea or help improve one’s writing. This is an awesome fandom!!
> 
> Words in Mohican (apologies for the lack of accent marks) with English translation:  
> Nkek – Mother  
> Nooch – Father  
> Wapaju Keesog P’chanim – Yellow Moon Woman

When Uncas returned to the sleeping quarters, his father was, as he had expected, awake and waiting for him, sitting cross legged on a sleeping palate. Others were just awakening, slipping out to take care of early morning needs.

“Uncas,” he began in Mohican, “you never knew her, but you are very like your Nkek. Your heart is generous.”

“As is yours, Nooch,” he replied as he set his weapons aside and joined his father on the palate, resting his arms on his bent knees.

“Have you given yours to Wapaju Keesog P’chanim?”

Uncas looked down, remembering Alice sitting on the ground between his legs, leaning into him, clinging to him, tasting his tattoos, moving intimately against him. She’d caught him off guard, but he was learning she was full of pleasant surprises. “You think she is weak.”

Chingachgook stared a moment, as if seeing something other than the dim, dank room they occupied. “She is young and has not experienced the world much—until now. She is like a new born fawn finding her legs for the first time. Everything is a wonder. Different than what she has known. Including you.”

Uncas looked up at his father. “I know you wish for me to find a woman of our people.”

“I wish for you to give your heart to one who will realize what it is you offer. I do not think Wapaju Keesog P’chanim has been given a gift such as yours before. She may not appreciate nor understand its value. I wish for you to be cautious and guard your heart.”

* * *

When Cora entered her father’s lodgings Alice, lying fully clothed on the bed, stirred. “Cora?” she murmured as she turned over.

“Alice, I’m sorry. I did not mean to wake you.”

“It’s alright, Cora. I’ve been up much of the night. You as well . . . with Nathaniel?” she questioned.

Cora wavered then nodded.

Alice sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “You love him?” she asked. Cora looked at her, eyes wide with surprise, lips tightly closed. “You need not lie to me. I saw the way you looked at him . . . and he at you.”

Cora expelled a deep breath. “Yes,” she replied, “I love him. I cannot believe how quickly it has happened, but I do love him.”

Alice rose from the bed and went to her sister, embraced her. “It will be alright,” she whispered, “We’ll find a way, Cora.”

“Oh, Alice, I am certain of nothing right now.” She clutched Alice to her. “Papa has surrendered to Montcalm.” Alice pulled back, not entirely surprised. “We must decamp by tomorrow morning.”

Alice had been expecting Uncas and his family to depart at anytime, but when Nathaniel was arrested, she knew they would not leave him behind. What would they do, now? What would she and Cora do? Where would they all go? She longed to once again be in Uncas’ arms; no matter what was happening around them, she felt safe, secure, treasured.

* * *

Word had spread quickly that Colonel Munro had surrendered to the French. They had been given until dawn to pack up the camp and vacate the fort. He’d been with his officers to strategize and decide how to proceed before and after the meeting with Montcalm. Consequently, he had gotten no sleep for almost 48 hours. He was now making his way to his lodgings and his daughters, who were, he presumed, packing up their few belongings. When he entered his rooms, both Cora and Alice were doing as he expected. “Girls,” he greeted.

As one, they looked up at him. He noted the opposing expressions on their faces. Cora pierced him with her dark, accusing eyes. Perhaps Major Heyward was right—his daughter was infatuated with Poe. He sighed. To be honest, he was not surprised that her fiery nature was attracted to the frontiersman. While he’d hoped she would marry the Major who would, perhaps, tame her a bit, he also did not want to see the trait he loved best in her stifled. It was why he’d allowed her to accompany him on some of his campaigns; he knew she’d face the pain and horror of warfare fearlessly and would, inevitably, be an asset. Her deep, almost black eyes penetrated, leaving no escape when she demanded an answer. He sometimes felt the urge to squirm under her direct gaze, but never had. Her backbone was as rigid and as strong as his own.

His gaze moved to his youngest daughter whose birth had caused his adored wife’s death. She was nothing like her sister. She had been sheltered her whole life, raised as the daughter of an Officer of his Majesty’s Army should despite their Scottish origins—privileged, pampered, subservient, obedient. And yet, she had survived an Indian attack, forged her way through difficult terrain, and had thought to ask after his welfare once they’d reunited. He had been away on military campaigns for a good portion of her life. Again, trying to be honest with himself, he admitted he did not know her as well as he knew Cora. And now she watched him with an uncertain expression, as if she did not quite know what to make of him.

“Girls,” he repeated, “we will be leaving at first light tomorrow.”

“What will happen to Nathaniel?” Cora demanded.

“When we are again under British dominion, you know what will happen, Cora. We’ve spoken of this already.”

“Despite everything he has done for us? And after your surrender, you will still see him hanged?” Cora cried.

Colonel Munro blinked, but did not flinch. Even during his meeting with Montcalm, as dissatisfied and saddened as he’d felt then, he’d not experienced this overwhelming sense of being out of control of everything, including his daughters. “Cora,” he said, exhausted, “I am sorry, but he knew the consequences. I will not discuss this with you again.”

As Cora stared at him, he could see the anger emanating from her—rigid fists at her sides, lips clenched, eyes afire. Without another word, she stormed out, leaving the door swinging on its hinges in her wake.

With a deep sigh, Colonel Munro turned to Alice. For the first time in his life, he felt a need to explain himself to her. “You understand, girl, don’t you?” he asked.

Alice stared, the fingers of one hand touching her lips as if she didn’t know what to say, or . . . Munro watched her closely and realized he had never really given much thought to what might be going on inside that pretty head of hers. She had always been the obedient child, overshadowed by her spirited, outspoken older sister. Somehow, despite her beauty, she had often managed to fade into the background, except when she expressed her love for him. And now, as he gazed at her, he understood that there was more. “Unplumbed depths,” as his wife used to say about certain gentlemen who did not feel the need to express their opinions on every topic and issue of conversation. He would tease her, saying she should have married a quiet man, for his own opinions were almost always on his face or coming out of his mouth. She would offer a small smile accompanied by a look in her eyes that said she was privy to something he was not. As his youngest daughter stood before him, he saw the exact same expression on her face. “Alice?” he strode towards her, grasped her arm and pulled it away from her face.

She sucked in a quick breath and blinked, her vacant gaze finally focusing on him. “Papa,” she whispered, “Cora loves him. She may never forgive you if you go through with this.”

“If I make an exception for him, even to please my own daughter, it will be seen as a weakness. Don’t you see that, girl?” He waited for her answer, still not comprehending why he felt such a need for her to understand his position or why her opinion was of consequence to him. Alice sighed; her eyes looked so sad and as he stared at her he realized, old. It was as if she’d lived a lifetime and was nearing the end.

“Papa,” she began, “we would not be here with you . . . we would not be alive if it were not for Nathaniel and his father and brother.”

“But he went against my express orders that the Colonial Militia were to remain here at the fort.”

Alice removed her arm from her father’s grasp. She stepped back and looked directly into his eyes. “What happened at the cabin . . . it was . . . horrible. A mother . . . her children . . . everyone murdered.”

“Ah, lass, the face of war is a fearsome sight. But the interests of the crown must take precedence over everything else.” He found himself repeating the words he had spoken to Major Heyward the day before and again wondered why it was imperative that she understand.

“Is that why you surrendered? To preserve the interests of the crown?” she asked.

He was taken aback by her brutal honesty and her unexpected intelligence. “That is different,” he looked away before continuing, unable to meet her steady gaze. “My responsibilities are for all who are here in this fort. General Webb will not send reinforcements.” He caught her gaze again, “Everyone here would be slaughtered if I did not.”

“As the Colonials could not stand by and allow their families to be slaughtered.” Her voice was quiet but held an edge of steel.

He could not believe this was his little Alice, challenging his motives, his very ideals. Anger welled up inside him. “You dare to question me?” He stepped towards her and she backed up. He grasped her arm once again and said through clenched teeth, “You will not speak to me in this manner.” Alice’s eyes widen and he saw the sadness replaced by shock as she tried to pull out of his grasp. “Do you hear me, girl?” He shook her.

She gasped, “Yes, Papa. Yes. I’m . . . I’m sorry. I meant no disrespect. I only . . .”

Tears welled in her eyes and he suddenly realized what he was doing. He dropped her arm and reeled back. “Alice. Ah, lass—“

But she did not wait for what else he might say or do. Instead, she scuttled around him and bolted out the open door into the bright light of the day.

Colonel Munro sat heavily on the bed. Never in his life had he manhandled either of his daughters, or any woman, for that matter. He lowered his head into his hands wondering what was happening to him. It was this new world. It made you do strange things, things of which you never thought yourself capable.

* * *

Alice clamped her arms against her stomach as she ran, unsure where to go. Her father! Her hero! She shook her head, not believing what he’d done nor what she’d said to him. What had she been thinking? She had not. She knew only that she’d felt the unfairness of it all—everything that had happened—to them, to the Camerons, to Nathaniel, to all the soldiers who’d been killed on the George Road, to all those at the fort. She wished she had never come to this continent. Then she thought of Uncas; had she not come, she would never have met him. A desperate urge to be with him, to be held in his strong arms overwhelmed her. And finally, she understood the feelings she’d been struggling to define. She loved him. As Cora loved Nathaniel, she loved Uncas. She could no longer deny it.


	5. Chapter 5

Cora was already at the stockade when Uncas arrived. He heard the tail end of her explanation about her father’s surrender to Montcalm. Nathaniel held her arms through the bars of his cell staring so intently at her that Uncas knew he had not heard his approach. He did not want to intrude and would speak to him later in the day. He departed as silently as he’d entered.

He stood outside, watching the activity around him as people readied themselves to leave this place; it lacked the bustle and haste one might expect. Instead, it all seemed slow and deliberate to his eyes, as if no one had much strength left—or hope. Amidst the sluggish pace, he caught a deviation in the pattern of movement out of the corner of his eye. Turning to his left he spied Alice running, her arms pressed against her waist. She stumbled but continued on. He hastened in her direction, reached out and grasped her shoulders. “Alice, are you alright?” She pulled up short, falling into him. She gazed up, tears pooling in her lovely hazel eyes, threatening to spill over. He saw such hurt there his breath hitched. Without another word, without caring who might see them in this moment, he pulled her to him and held her. He felt her warm tears against his neck as her fists clutched his shirt. One hand palmed her head, fingers burrowing into her loose hair, the other caressed her back. What had upset her so? He wanted to talk to her, but not here in the open. He looked up; they were beginning to draw attention. “Come with me,” he murmured. They walked arm-in-arm. She kept her cheek pressed to his shoulder, her hair falling over her face. He hoped it appeared as if he was helping a distraught woman find her way to her family and not as if he and the Colonel’s daughter were having an assignation. He wanted to bring her someplace where they would not raise suspicion.

In the last skirmish, the Northwest Bastion had sustained most of the French bombardment while the Southwest Bastion had remained largely untouched. He led her in that direction. They reached the now abandoned Southwest Casemate, much of the firepower having been moved to the Northwest Casemate during the final clash with the French. Very few people lingered here now; even the Sentry Box stood deserted.

Clouds moved across the sun, dimming the midday light. When they reached the area between the Casemate and the parapet, Uncas stopped. “Wait here,” he said. Alice nodded and he crept back to the end of the Casemate to be sure no one had followed them. Perhaps he was being overcautious, but until he knew what had happened to Alice he felt he could not be cautious enough. He returned to her, held her at arm’s length and looked closely at her.

Alice’s breaths came in small gasps. She stared up at him, tears trickling from eyes still clouded with pain. Her fingertips brushed his biceps. “My father . . .” she stopped, tightening her hold on his arms.

He looked down and saw red, oval shaped marks encircling her slender right wrist and forearm. She had not had any such bruises when they’d separated earlier. “Who did this to you?” he demanded. With one finger, he gently traced around what appeared to be thumb and finger imprints on her pale skin, as if she’d been grabbed. When she did not answer he looked into her eyes—her hurt filled eyes. “Alice,” he whispered then moved his hands to her cheeks, brushing her tears away, “tell me.”

“My father,” she began again and haltingly related what had occurred when her father returned to his quarters in the morning.

“My brave one,” he murmured and pulled her once more against his chest. “You spoke truth but he did not want to hear it.” He kissed the top of her head. She pressed into him and he enveloped her, wanting to take away all the pain she’d experienced, the horror she’d witnessed over the past few days. “Has he done this before?”

“No, never,” Alice replied. He felt her hands clutch at his back, move up into his hair. She lifted tear filled eyes to him and slid her hands to his cheeks, guiding his mouth to hers. Her lips were soft, pliant against his and he opened up, wanting to feel her inside. She explored him with a delicate sweep of her tongue and he melted at her sweet innocence. His father’s words echoed in his head, “I wish for you to give your heart to one who will realize what it is you offer.” He had given his heart, even if she did not know it, yet. But he wondered where her heart lay.

“Alice,” he gasped, pulling his mouth away from hers. She clung to him. His eyes roamed her face and he spied the fear there. But as she stared at him, he saw something else take its place. Was it real or only something he wished to see? Perhaps it was time he found out. With reverence, he lowered his head and pressed his lips tenderly against the bruises discoloring her skin. “I wish I could heal them for you,” he murmured. The fingers of her other hand sifted through his hair and rested on the back of his head. His lips trailed along her arm to place a kiss in the palm of her hand. He closed her fingers and held them within his own then looked up at her, “I will always be here for you. I make this promise to you now, my heart in your hand.”

* * *

Alice’s eyes widened. “Uncas, what are you saying?” His stare was so intense she could not look away, even if she wanted to. Instead, she wished to sink into the deep, dark orbs where she saw safety, security, and something else. Something she was afraid to believe.

He was silent so long she thought he would not answer. Fear permeated her heart; perhaps she did not know anything about his feelings for her or what she thought, or hoped, she saw in his eyes. Then his fingers touched her cheek, traced a path through her hair, entangled amid the blonde strands. “Alice, I am yours. If you want me,” he finished but broke his gaze.

Alice sensed his insecurity; her bold, stalwart warrior looked suddenly unsure, even a little afraid. She wanted to reassure him, make him understand that her feelings were real, not some childish fancy. “Uncas,” she breathed and he looked up at her. “I love you.” He blinked but remained silent. “The thought of being away from you frightens me like nothing ever has.” His eyes clouded with doubt. “Not because I’ve never felt safer with anyone else, although that is part of it. I cannot seem to get enough of touching you, seeing you, hearing your voice, feeling your arms around me. I trust you as I’ve trusted no other, not my father, not even my sister.” She touched his cheek, “If this is not love, then what is it?” Again, he did not respond. A thought struck her. She leaned away, dropped her hand. “Unless you are promised to another and are simply being honorable because you made a promise to protect me,” she said in a rush and tried to pull her other hand out of his hold.

He would not let her go. “I want to protect you. Because I love you, Alice Munro. There is no one else.” And he kissed her with such devotion she was awed and humbled. That such a man, a warrior, dangerous, fierce, yet the gentlest of men, a “red man” whom she might have considered simply a curiosity not long ago, cared for her so deeply. And she for him. She didn’t understand it, except that it was there, so clear in her mind and heart.

Initially, she had assumed that once her adventure in America was over, she would go back to England, marry a gentleman of her station and settle down to the life due the daughter of a British Military Officer. When she was younger and her sister was being courted, she pictured herself in Cora’s place, conversing with the gentleman in question, perhaps going for a ride in his fine, open carriage so all could see that he had singled her out as someone special. But that life now held no appeal for her if it meant she would never see Uncas again. This man gazing at her right now, holding her, revealing his feelings for her, had wrapped himself around her heart. Even if she returned to England, she would never forget him, could never be with anyone else without thinking of him and mourning what might have been.

“Mr. Phelps was right, you know,” he said, breaking the spell between them. “This world is not meant for two such as us to be together. And your father—”

“He would certainly not approve,” she interrupted.

“He would do more than ‘not approve,’” Uncas countered.

“He could forbid me to see you.”

“He could have me arrested. Or worse.”

“And yet, here you are. Here we are,” Alice whispered.

“Here we are,” he echoed, his eyes roaming her face. She loved him all the more in that moment, that he would risk so much to be with her.

“And what of your father?” she asked.

“My father asks that I remain cautious.”

“He thinks I am weak. Not worthy of you.”

“He worries that you do not feel the same for me as I feel for you.”

As she stared into his eyes, the sincerity of his gaze pierced her soul. For answer, she pulled him to her and kissed him with such ferocity that he fell back against the Casemate wall with a grunt. She thrust her tongue between his lips and he responded, opening up to her, his hands roving her shoulders, her back, cupping her bottom and urging her against him. She felt him, long and hard through his breechclout, press into her belly. As she had the day before, she allowed instinct to rule her. She ground her hips against him. He grunted again, the sound hinting at pleasure. Her hands yanked at his shirt, pulling it out of the confines of his belt. She felt an overwhelming desire to touch his bare skin, feel his warmth and smoothness against her palms, against her breasts. She could not quite fathom her thoughts at this moment, but she wanted him to kiss and touch her as he had the day before.

She had never been intimate with a man. When she’d turned 16, Cora had explained, in a rather clinical fashion, about the union between a man and a woman. “It should never be done outside of marriage,” she’d concluded. Alice had been rather shocked and told Cora she could not imagine herself doing such things outside, or inside, of marriage! Cora had laughed and replied, “If you want children, you will have to. And perhaps, if you love your husband, it will be something you wish to do.”

Alice had chuckled and said, “Perhaps,” but had remained doubtful. Until now. Until Uncas.

The first drop of rain landed on Alice’s shoulder, but she didn’t notice as she slid her hands underneath his shirt and touched his belly. Her fingers encountered the bandage she had wrapped around him at the Infirmary, so she moved her hands upwards until the pads of her fingers traced his nipples. She felt a tremor flow through him as another drop of rain landed on her. Uncas’ lips trailed over the skin along her jaw, down her neck. He held her with such tenderness, as if she was a rare flower.

Rain began to fall steadily. Uncas lifted his head, looked up at the darkened sky then back at Alice as droplets clung to their eyelashes, clothes, and hair. Hands entwined, they ducked into the brick and mortar Casemate. They looked around noting the bare stone, one cannon at the ready but not used in the last assault. The dim light of the day illuminated an embrasure—waist high, deep-ledged and arched with an opening large enough to fit the barrel of a cannon. “Not too comfortable but at least it’s dry,” he said. She nodded.

When they reached the embrasure, Uncas picked her up by the waist and deposited her on the ledge, her legs dangling on either side of his hips. She held onto his shoulders as he peeked around her to see outside. “Getting heavy,” he stated. Again she nodded and he looked at her. “You alright?”

She could not take her eyes from his beloved face and she cupped his cheeks. “I keep thinking you are not real,” she uttered, and slipped her hands into his hair, the damp strands slick between her fingers. “Kiss me as you did last night,” she breathed.

Without a word, Uncas obliged. He began with her mouth, gently biting her full bottom lip then sliding his tongue inside. She opened without hesitation, leaning into him. After tasting her thoroughly, his lips tracked along her cheek and jaw and inched their way down the column of her long, slender neck. When he reached the top of her shoulder, as he had the night before, he slid her dress aside and continued depositing sweet, tiny kisses along her skin. And as he had the night before, he pulled her bodice down, exposing one breast. He stopped, looked into her eyes. “Is this what you want?” he asked in that deep, dark voice of his. She swallowed, startled at the sudden spike of sensation in her belly and lower. Unable to speak, she drew a breath and pressed his head back to her breast. Yes, she wanted his mouth on her again. She slipped her hands beneath the collar of his shirt; they drifted along his shoulders. The confines of his clothing were beginning to frustrate her. She wanted to kiss him as he was kissing her. Finding her voice again, she demanded, “Off,” as she plucked at the fabric. He stopped, pulled back. She tugged his shirt and repeated, “Off. Please,” she added.

A quirk of his lips as he replied, “Anything you ask.” His shirt landed behind her. He bent his dark head and once again took her nipple into his mouth, sucking, kissing. She felt his right hand slide across her just above her breasts, the leather strip wrapped around his wrist grazing a path along her skin. He pulled her dress and shift off her shoulder, moving the bodice aside. His mouth soon followed and he sucked her other nipple. She moaned, unable to quell the sound, reveling in the little trills shooting through her body. She didn’t quite understand what was happening to her; she knew only that she didn’t want him to stop.

“Uncas,” she whispered, her hands beginning to roam freely across his shoulders and back. She marveled that a man could feel like this—so warm, so smooth, his skin like velvet against her palms. At the Infirmary, she’d been offered a tiny taste of him; now she wanted more. She bent her head, pressed her lips to his shoulder and experimented a bit, scraping her teeth along his skin. She heard his quick intake of breath and decided that meant he liked what she was doing, so she bit him gently, tasting the slightly salty, earthy essence of him. She felt his left hand, through her dress, trail down her right leg. He fisted the hem of her gown and inched it up, his knuckles grazing her ankle, her calf. Here he stopped and wrapped his fingers around her, thumb rubbing her shin through her knitted stockings. He looked at her as his hand continued up, fingered the pink garter tied just below her knee. He caressed the bare skin above. She watched as he placed his mouth against the hollow at the base of her neck and began a slow descent. His free hand nudged her dress and chemise down to her waist and she freed her arms from the confines of her sleeves. She was glad she had not donned her stays again after she and Cora had returned to their father’s rooms. If she had she was sure she would have burst out of them by now. The thumb of his right hand found the sensitive underside of her breasts. His tongue followed before blazing a path down to her belly. She sucked in a breath and held on to his shoulders.

“Alice,” he rumbled when he took his mouth off her skin and stared up at her. He cupped her cheek, “my sweet Alice.” His left hand encircled her knee and began a slow ascent along her thigh; she could feel the contrast between the cool metal of his brass bracelets trailing behind the warmth of his fingers. She was surprised again at the excitement spiking through her. Her eyes widened and she reached up to touch his face, trail her fingers to his mouth, touch his full lips then continue the journey down his neck to just below his collarbone where two thin strands of Pen Shells hung. She fingered the tiny, fawn-colored shells but her eyes, as they so often did, strayed to the tattoos dancing across his skin. Having never seen anything like them before meeting him, they continually fascinated, and she traced them with her fingers. He pressed her hand flat against his chest and guided it down. She felt his nipple in her palm and explored, moving her hand in small, light circles, tracing around it with gentle fingers. He closed his eyes, rested his forehead against hers and released a deep sigh.

“My love,” she murmured. For she felt he was her own love, perhaps even her “true love” if such a thing existed. How they would move on from here, she did not know. She wanted to live for this moment—so unlike her. But what choice had she under the circumstances in which they found themselves? The future was always uncertain but now, tomorrow was more of a question than it had ever been in her life.

He kissed her again then leaned back slightly, the hand on her thigh nearing her most secret place, a place she herself had only ever touched while washing. She could see a question in his eyes. She wasn’t sure what he wanted, but she knew exactly what she wanted. She rolled her hips forward until the tip of his thumb grazed her. The shock of the slight contact awed her and she gasped. “Alright?” he asked. She could do nothing but nod, staring into his eyes. He was looking at her as if he wanted to devour her. But she didn’t feel frightened; she felt exhilarated. The tiniest of smiles crept across her face as her teeth clamped down on her bottom lip in an attempt to keep these new passions inside her lest they burst forth like a fountain. And suddenly, perhaps for the first time ever, she felt powerful, but was not sure how to wield that power.

Uncas turned her slightly so that her shoulder nestled against his. He lifted her right knee and placed her foot on the ledge, wrapped his large hand around her thigh. She braced her foot against the side of the embrasure. “You can tell me to stop,” he whispered. She stared at him but offered no reply or even a sign that she understood what he’d said. “Alice. I’ll stop whenever you say.” He kept his hand still as a crease formed between his brows.

Finally, she blinked and nodded.

“You alright?” he asked.

He seemed to ask her that question often. She sucked in a breath. “Fine,” she replied, “fine. I’m fine. Don’t stop what . . . what you’re doing, Uncas.”

His fingers climbed higher on her thigh until finally, they began a leisurely exploration of her delicate folds. He probed gently as he kissed her mouth, her neck then moved down to her breasts again. She could hear the rain pounding against the Casemate walls, smell the earthiness of wet brick. Her left arm clung to his shoulders and her right hand caressed his hair, smoothing it away so she could watch his mouth trace a path along her body, mesmerized by the contrast of his warm, cinnamon skin against her creamy paleness. After Cora’s talk with her about the intimacies between a man and a woman, she’d never imagined how wonderful, sensual, exciting it would feel. Perhaps it was because it was Uncas; she certainly couldn’t imagine anyone else doing these things to her. His fingers slid between her folds, the heel of his hand prodded a spot that sent her wild with a desire she couldn’t name. He lifted his head. “Is this what you want?” he repeated the question he’d asked her earlier as his fingers continued their gentle assault. His other hand slipped around her torso and he held her steady as her hips began to undulate against his hand causing his brass bracelets to clink against one another, echoing a rhythm she felt deep inside her.

Her nails dug into his shoulders and she cried out, staring into eyes that had turned so dark they were almost black. “Yes . . . yes, I . . .” Breathing suddenly became difficult and she inhaled deeply. “Uncas, please . . .” she did not know what she was begging for; she knew only that she needed some kind of release from the tension building inside her.

She felt his deft fingers slide down to her woman’s opening. “Inside you, Alice,” he rasped as the fingers of his other hand caressed her breast. “I want to be inside you.” She nodded, trusting him implicitly. When his finger penetrated her, she cried out again, her nails scraping across his back, drawing blood. The wind must have changed direction because Alice could feel raindrops land on her face, on the leg braced against the wall.

Hushed moans and gasps escaped her. She could not seem to find the relief she craved so she arched into Uncas’ hand again and again until finally, her bottom lifted from the ledge and she pressed herself into his palm. An astonishing sound—almost a scream—exploded from her mouth. It echoed and bounced off the walls around her. Uncas held her as the last vestiges of her orgasm melted away before tenderly lowering her to the ledge. She groped beneath her gown, found his hand and held it pressed to her body. What had he done to her? She could feel his mouth smile against her temple. “My sweet, innocent Alice is a wildcat,” he murmured.

Still breathing heavily, she turned her face into his shoulder. Her foot slid off the wall as a few tears slipped from her eyes. She felt his body tense, “Did I hurt you?” He pulled back. “I’m sorry.” Speechless, she only shook her head. “Then why are you crying?” Gently, he placed a hand on each of her knees and turned her so she was once again facing him, her legs on either side of his. He reached up and pushed her hair back from her face, cupping her cheeks. “Alice, did I hurt you?” he asked again and forced her to look into his eyes. “Do you regret this?”

As she found her equilibrium, she could understand why he would think she was in pain or felt badly about what had just happened. Everything about this—him, what he’d just done to her, the way he made her feel—was so new she didn’t understand her own reactions. “No,” she finally asserted.

“Then what is it?” With his thumbs, he brushed her tears away.

“I’ve never felt anything like that in my life . . . it was . . . it was overwhelming.” She closed her eyes.

“I didn’t hurt you?” he asked again, a note of desperation in his voice.

“No,” she shook her head.

“You’re sure you don’t regret it?”

She opened her eyes and shook her head again. His fingers caressed her face, her hair, her shoulders. He pressed her close. “Is it always like that?” she asked and wrapped her arms around him, laying her head on his shoulder.

“Not always,” he replied.

“Did you feel it, too?”

He chuckled. “Not this time. Not the way you did.”

“What do you mean, ‘not this time?’ What did you feel?” she asked, pulling away from him. He did not respond. “Uncas. What do you mean?” she asked again. He suddenly looked contrite and she wanted to understand why.

“Alice,” he began, “this is new to you. I don’t want to frighten you.”

“You could never frighten me,” she declared. When he did not reply, she reached out and touched his chest, again tracing those compelling tattoos, trailed her fingers down, the pads outlining his nipples. Since what he’d done to her had felt so wondrous, it seemed logical that she could touch him the same way and make him feel the things she’d felt. She lowered her head and replaced her fingers with her mouth. At his sharp intake of breath her hand traveled past the bandage to his breechclout and pressed against it as her mouth continued its assault on his broad chest. She didn’t really know what she was doing; she simply tried to gauge his reactions and use them as her guide.

His hands returned to her shoulders. “Alice,” he said, “what are you doing?” Before her lips trailed lower, he drew her up. “What are you doing?” he repeated, his eyes roaming her face.

“I want to make you feel what I felt,” she replied simply. “You don’t like it?”

“Alice. My precious Alice.” He hugged her, his cheek pressed to the top of her head. The movement pushed her hand more firmly against his breechclout. She twisted her wrist so that she could grip him through the soft leather. A low moan escaped him.

“Let me touch you,” she whispered and traced the length of him. While she was surprised at her own daring, she was also curious to know what, exactly, he looked like and felt like down there. And any shyness she may have felt vanished when she’d changed his bandage at the Infirmary and allowed him to be the first man to kiss her.

* * *

His voice failed him at this moment. By entrusting her innocence to him, she was conquering him. He felt a deep responsibility, a deep drive to make her happy, feel protected and loved. He would kill himself before causing her harm or pain.

“Are you sure? Do you know—” here he stopped as she slid her hand beneath his breechclout and touched his erect shaft. He could not hold in the groan that escaped him.

“Oh, my . . .”

He pulled out of her hand. “What is it?” He didn’t want to give her a disgust of himself; he assumed she’d never touched nor seen a naked man before. He was sure her sister had, having tended to many wounded soldiers while on campaigns with her father. But Alice? No, he didn’t think so.

Gazing up at him in wonder, she replied, “You feel so smooth, but hard, too. Like iron wrapped in silk. I’ve never felt anything like it before.”

He couldn’t stop the chuckle that slipped from his mouth.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know . . .”

“Alice, you can explore me all you want.” He stood before her, not moving, only staring at her.

Slowly, she moved his breechclout aside, and peeked down. Her eyes widened briefly before she wrapped her fingers around him. He kept his breath steady as she touched him, moved her hand on him like she was handling a delicate piece of china. As she fondled him he tried to stay as still as possible so as not to startle her. Finally, when he thought he could take no more of her explorations, he wrapped his hand around hers. Her eyes shot up to his and she stumbled over her words, “Am I . . . am I doing it wrong?”

“No,” he rumbled, “but we can do it together for this first time.” He leaned his forehead against hers and tightened her grip on his penis, moving their hands along the length of him. He never knew a touch as innocent as hers could feel so extraordinary. Just before he was about to spill his seed, he pulled out of her grasp. She watched silently as he stared at her face, her still wet hair in disarray, her eyes full of wonder as she watched him. His eyes strayed to her breasts, milky white in the pale light of the rainy day, then down to her ankles. Slowly his gaze traveled up her leg to the pink garter just below her knee. He reached out and untied the ribbon, watched her stocking slide down and pool at the top of her shoe. This time, when he wrapped his long, brown fingers around her calf, he felt nothing but soft, bare skin. His eyes continued their upward journey to where her dress bunched at her thighs. Alice, sitting before him on the brick embrasure, rain pounding outside behind her, backlit by the grey day—he’d never seen a more beautiful sight in his life. His hand followed the path his eyes had taken then pushed her dress further up until his fingers grazed the hair at the apex of her thighs. His other hand continued to stroke himself. A guttural cry escaped him and he closed his eyes marveling at the strength of his release.

When he felt her hands grip his shoulders then move up to his face he opened his eyes. She was looking at him with an expression he could not read. Had he frightened her? Disgusted her?

“Uncas, you are so beautiful.” She enveloped him in a hug so fierce he almost lost his balance. His free arm snaked around her waist and he held her, reveling in the feel of her against him.

He kissed her forehead. “Beautiful” was not a word he’d ever heard used to describe himself. But he loved her all the more for her sincerity.

* * *

A short time later, after Uncas had cleaned himself with the inside of his breechclout and helped Alice right her clothing, he hopped up onto the ledge. He propped his feet against one side of the embrasure and his back against the other. She curled up, snuggled between his bent legs, her right arm wrapped around him, her left resting against his muscled chest. His fingers drew light circles along her back and shoulder as he kissed the top of her head. “Comfortable?” he asked.

“Mmmm,” she murmured, nodding.

Together, they watched the rainfall, no longer at its height, but mellowing into a soft drizzle. They were content to remain silent; no words necessary between them. They seemed to have a deep understanding of each other without having to articulate anything more. Alice’s body grew heavy in his arms and he looked down. Her eyes were closed, her long lashes resting against her pale cheeks; her breathing was steady and deep. He sat silent and still and allowed her to sleep.

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used a map of the original Fort William Henry as well as a very helpful article, "The 'Massacre' at Fort William Henry" by David R. Starbuck, to help me figure out where Alice and Uncas might find a private place to be alone. I've never been to FWH and couldn't find pictures of the inside of the Casemate, so I'm not 100% sure if it's constructed of brick or stone or wood, or a combination, so I took a few liberties with that. By the way, a "Casemate" on a fort usually housed armaments or other stores and the embrasures were often structured with a sheltered opening that would allow a soldier to fire a weapon from the opening while still being protected from return fire. Or you could poke a cannon through the opening and fire it without being exposed to return fire.
> 
> Some of you may be wondering why Alice is not wearing anything besides stockings under her dress. I did some research on women's undergarments of the 18th century. They did not wear any type of underwear and bloomers were not introduced until well into the 19th century. Their stockings were usually made of some kind of knitted material, like wool, and tied just under the knee with a ribbon i.e. garter. Silk stockings were only for the wealthy. Even if Alice had been wearing silk stockings while they were traveling, I don't think they would have been in very good shape by the time they reached the fort. And I made an assumption that just as she borrowed a dress, she may have had to borrow stockings, too. To my mind, they would have been practical so most likely made of wool or similar material.
> 
> Finally, I just cannot take this couple to the cliffs. I cannot "live through" writing their deaths—still kind of breaks my heart when I watch the movie or hear "The Promontory" from the soundtrack. But also, both Alice and Uncas said they are very happy sitting on that embrasure in the Casemate and don't want to leave. So, I am giving them some much needed together and alone time. For now, this is the end of their adventures at the Fort.


End file.
